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Updated: May 10, 2025
He admitted that he knew that General Prinsloo had included him in the unconditional surrender. It is strange that, on Olivier's capture shortly afterwards, he was not court-martialled for this breach of the rules of war, but that good-natured giant, the Empire, is quick too quick, perhaps to let byegones be byegones.
Jacqueline found it difficult at first to see his point of view: she attributed it to an excessive pride, put into his head by Christophe, and she thought it ridiculous: was it not more natural between lovers to set no store by riches or poverty, and was it not rather shabby to refuse to be indebted to her when it would give her such great joy?... However, she threw herself in with Olivier's plans: their austerity and discomfort were the very things that brought her round, for she found in them an opportunity of gratifying her desire for moral heroism.
"Oh, my God!" she murmured between her teeth, and she approached him, palpitating with horror. He tried to smile, to reassure her, and the grimace of that attempt was frightful. When she was beside the bed, she put both hands gently on one of Olivier's, which lay along his body, and stammered: "Oh, my poor friend!" "It is nothing," said he, in a low tone, without moving his head.
I think it would be best to tell His Majesty the whole story. Count Miossen's statement will support Olivier's. Perhaps, too, an examination of Cardillac's house would help matters. The King might then follow the bent of his own judgment of his kind heart, which might pardon where justice could only punish."
Thus ran Olivier's thoughts, when King Hugo roughly accosted him with the words: "'T is now your turn, Count, to fulfil your promise." "Sire," replied Olivier, "I am waiting with great impatience for the Princess your daughter. For you must needs do me the priceless grace of giving me her hand." "That is but fair," said King Hugo.
But his creative daimon knew it perfectly, and in those days begat some of his loveliest songs of sorrowful love. Some time passed before he saw her again. He was obsessed by thoughts of Olivier's troubles and his health. At last one day he came upon the address she had given him and he made up his mind to call on her. As he went up the steps he heard the sound of workmen hammering.
At all events, the Italian songs were in a large majority in her grandfather's collection. They had been Olivier's first musical nourishment. Not a very substantial diet, rather like those sweetmeats with which provincial children are stuffed: they corrupt the palate, destroy the tissues of the stomach, and there is always a danger of their killing the appetite for more solid nutriment.
Their misunderstandings were especially grievous when they occurred in the evening, so that the two friends had to spend the night in disunion, which meant that both of them were morally upset. Christophe would get up and scribble a note and slip it under Olivier's door: and next day as soon as he woke up he would beg his pardon.
The even voices of the neighbors sitting at their doors on the other side of the canal rang through the silent air. In the house Antoinette was playing a florid Italian cavatina. M. Jeannin held Olivier's hand in his. He was smoking.
He could not understand Olivier's anxiety, who asked him in fear and trembling what he had said and done. "What have I been doing? I've had a splendid lunch. I haven't had such a good feed for a long time." He began to recount the menu. "And wine.... I had wine of every color." Olivier interrupted him to ask who was there. "Who was there?... I don't know.
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